And Again And Again And Again

If someone told me where I would be right now, last semester, I would like to say that I would laugh in their face and tell them “No way,” but I know myself better than that. I would probably just look them in the eyes and sigh a sigh of acceptance and disappointment: a combination of emotions that are too close for comfort.

I am sitting in my room, starting a project that is due in two and a half hours that I have had two weeks to work on. I haven’t done laundry in who knows how long and there are more plastic bottles and paper dishes littering my desk and floor than contact lenses in my medicine drawer. In the last few months I have allowed myself to succumb to the painfully numb feeling of nothing. I though that my usual routine depressive episodes were bad but they are pitiful against this one.

I am plagued with apathy and disassociation. There is no motive in my actions and I aimlessly wander around doing mundane things that I don’t think I am fully aware or conscious of. I walked into a gas station the other day and bought peanut butter filled pretzels and didn’t realize that I was eating them until I was back in my car with the doors locked.

At least when I have gone into autopilot mode I have purpose in what I’m doing and I am doing things that I need to do. This is something drastically different. They are uncharacteristic things and random things and things that don’t invoke any sort of reaction or emotion. It’s like when you leave your Sims alone for too long and they start doing pointless things for no reason and for no one to see.

I was so excited last semester that I had avoided any big dips in my day to day life and I was actually finding balance and adjusting to my “normal”. Maybe it’s karma for not attending any church services since getting to ASU (minus the two time I went with my parents over winter break). Maybe this is just the universe telling me that I shouldn’t get too cocky and full of myself, I apparently needed a kick to the ego.

Whatever the reasoning is, I am determined to fight it because nothing is more motivating than spite. And I intend to prove myself wrong and break out of this insufferable cycle.

Anhedonia

I haven’t cried in almost nine months.

If you’re my therapist, you see this as a good thing, cause it means there hasn’t been anything particularly stressing to cause me to cry. And this could be true and one hopes it could be true.

But, if you are me, you see it as a slight issue.

Almost a year ago I was officially diagnosed with bipolar disorder and since then a lot of puzzle pieces have fallen into place in how I operate and function. However, the puzzle has grown a lot as well so the amount of unfinished puzzle hasn’t really changed and in fact might have increased. And within the unfitted mess of my life puzzle is the answer to why I cannot bring myself to cry.

I used to cry at least a few times a week, which isn’t necessarily healthier than where I am now, but I felt enough emotion to cry. There were times when I was overwhelmed with emotions whether good or bad and crying was the only form of release that could aid in dealing with said emotions. My fear now, is that I am void of emotion.

Every time I’ve spoken with my therapist, all I can say is I feel diet happiness. I do things that should promote a feeling of joy but I’m not entirely sure if I actually feel the joy or if I have just convinced myself that it’d be weird if I wasn’t happy so I should just be happy. It’s like I’m forcing myself to experience emotions and I’m doing it well.

Imagine after every time you laughed at something, you immediately questioned if it was forced because you don’t know if you remember how to genuinely laugh. That's not the most comfortable feeling in the world to say the least.

I did a quick Google search the other day, which is never a good idea when you’re worried about something and I’m not a big proponent on self-diagnosing based on 10 minutes of internet research, BUT something called Anhedonia almost sums up what I’m feeling.

To simplify the definition, it’s a common symptom of psychotic disorders and some depressive disorders, where the person no longer feels pleasure in anything. It’s like an extreme form of apathy. I don’t think I’m fully at that point, but I can feel myself getting there and I don’t really know what’s up with that. As much as I enjoy being a little more mentally stable now than I was a year ago, I miss being able to experience feelings.

That’s putting it bluntly but I miss feeling something and not constantly questioning if it’s real. I think this also plays into the new over dramatization of my life. Nothing feels relevant to my living unless I make it overly important and that is something I feel like I should probably unpack but that is neither here nor there.